Roger Lovette writes about cultural concerns, healthy faith and matters of the heart.

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

Station Six: Veronica Wipes the Face of Jesus

photo by rockface/flickr

A pious woman wiped Jesus' face.(Tradition of the Jerusalem Church.)

Veronica is the only character in the Stations who is not
mentioned in the Bible. All the others’ names appear on the marquee. Not
Veronica. Where she came from we do not know. Her personal history, if anyone
ever knew, has faded over the centuries. But not her name. And not her
deed.

Picture the scene. Jesus staggered under his heavy load. He
had already fallen once. The crowds have spat on him again and again. Soldiers
kicked him and nudged him with their spears on and on up that terrible hill.
And then, it is as if time stood still. From out the crowd a woman weaved her
way through the mob. Nothing could stop her. Some tried, I am sure. And then
she came face to face with the Roman guards. They protected their prisoner. Not
from sufferings—perhaps to make sure he did not escape. All hell would have
broken loose had this man called Jesus escaped. And so the soldiers made sure
this crucifixion would take place as scheduled. But this woman, legend called
her Veronica—pushed against the soldiers. Women were not supposed to do that.
In fact, they were not supposed to be anywhere close—but back on the edge of
things—out of sight and out of mind. Except of course, when men needed one for
their own needs. But here she stood head held high, determined. Miraculously,
the soldiers let her by. And then she saw Jesus up close. The wounds, the
blood, the broken body nearly spent. She saw the eyes and the weariness that
suffering brings. Spittle from a hundred mouths—ran down his face and body like
a river. Time must have stood still for a moment. She took the veil from her
face. Women were not supposed to do that. Unveiled in public. But she unwrapped
the veil and reached out to Jesus. Did she know him? Who knows? We do not know
if she was a follower or not. We only know she touched the face of Jesus,
wiping away what blood and tears, perhaps, and the spittle—the parts she could
reach. It must have been just a moment—but Jesus’ eyes met hers and he must
have nodded or tried to smile. She knotted the veil up in her hands and the
crowd parted as she turned away.

That’s all we know of this woman, Veronica. Interestingly
her name means image or true icon. For in her action she reflects what we are
all supposed to be as human beings. Courageous, compassionate, kind—caring for
someone despite the consequences or inconveniences.

Did she make Jesus’ journey easier? Probably not. But this
is not the point. She reached out and did what she could. It wasn’t a man—Simon was forced to carry
the cross. No. This was a woman, in New Testament times, who showed us what is
the essence of the gospel. We keep remembering, as she reached out to Jesus,
those last he gave us, “Inasmuch as you do it unto the least of these...you do
it unto me.”

We live in a strange time. We compassion-fatiguers pass by
so many every day that suffer and need. Most of our churches spend most on
ourselves. Yet out there in every neighborhood are the silent poor and abused
and hurting—that need someone to reach out and care. Most of our sermons talk
about our needs and our problems: our...our...our. Not many talk about those
without insurance or those who can’t get green cards or those families split
and divided by our laws. There is a new term floating around these days, “the
selfies.” We take care of our selves and our own. Listen to our pronouns. Me. Mine. Us. Ours. We.

Standing here beside this Station—we see a woman we know so
little about. But we do know she risked so much to do what she could. She
shames us all. For she shows us in this simple act what a human being...is
supposed to be. I hope I don’t forget this woman and I hope I remember her,
again and again, when I see the least of these in the grocery store and holding
up a sign or weeping down my block.

Stories galore talk about the fact that when she
pulled her veil from the face of Jesus—embedded in that cloth was the tortured
face she touched. That doesn’t really matter. What does matter is that she took
away more than she ever gave. I think even in her old age she did not forget
that day when, as a young woman, she dared to do what nobody else did. Is that
what Jesus meant when he said: Follow me?

Follow Roger by Email

Follow Roger on Twitter

Connect with Roger on Facebook

Followers

Translate

Roger

About Me

Minister-writer who cares about the world and all God's children. I've Pastored six churches--served as Interim Pastor for seven other churches since my supposed retirement.I have written five books and a multitude of articles.